Hero of Israel
by CarlieD
Summary: A Marine sergeant’s head is found in the luggage of an elderly Israeli veteran, and Ziva finds herself in a difficult position: caught between NCIS and a man known as a Hero of Israel. Est. TIVA. Rating is for safety.
1. Being Torn Apart

_A Marine sergeant's head is found in the luggage of an elderly Israeli veteran, and Ziva finds herself in a difficult position: caught between NCIS and a man known as a Hero of Israel. Est. TIVA._

RATED: M to be safe for some graphic romance and violence scenes.

NOTE: I've decided to go with the majority of the actors' birthdates as birthdates for the characters, with the exception of Abby/Pauley (because I don't think Abby is supposed to be 39) and Ziva/Cote (for plot purposes). Ages are going to come into play a little later.

DISCLAIMER: I don't own any of NCIS.

**

* * *

**

Chapter 1: Being Torn Apart

Ziva yawned and stretched slowly as her internal alarm clock went off. Her toes brushing against bare calves, she mumbled a sleepy threat when he awoke at the touch and pinned her down underneath his warm, firm body. As his lips began caressing her skin, she let him have his few moments of control before she forced his lips back up and away from her collarbone with one good nudge of her head, teasing him with soft, almost imperceptible kisses on his throat.

"I thought you had a run this morning," he groaned, when her fingers tangled themselves in his hair and pulled his head down for more kisses.

"Not quite yet," she breathed back, and without the slightest warning, he was suddenly the one caught beneath her. "I have time."

He laughed, hands cupping around her butt as he replied mischievously, "I'm not sure I'm quite recovered from the last time yet."

"Well, that is truly a shame, Tony," she teased back, leaning forward provocatively. With that, she started to slide off, causing a panicked yelp to escape from his lips. "I would not want to be the one who tires you…" she continued, pouting slightly.

He caught her lip between his, nibbling at it lightly. "I'll survive," he returned in a low voice. "I dare you to try me, my little desert rose…"

Ziva held back the laughs as he started kissing her throat again. "You may regret that dare, my little hairy butt," she murmured.

* * *

Meanwhile, the security officers at the gates of Dulles International Airport had a recurring problem on their hands once more.

"Mr. Rosenberg," Officer Mitchell Gervase said calmly, slowly and loudly as he tried to pass back the passport being held out to him. "Mr. Rosenberg, your passport is expired. Where is Rachel?"

The elderly man, stooped with his age and the wear of life, thrust out the fragile Israeli passport insistently. "_Yisra'el._ I go _Yerushalayim_ in airplane. Gate 46," he repeated. "I must go _Yisra'el_."

"Come with me, Mr. Rosenberg, we'll call Rachel to come pick you up," Officer Gervase sighed, picking up the man's small suitcase, an antique which easily dated back to the 30s or 40s. He frowned when a sticky red substance began to drip from the cracks. "Mr. Rosenberg, what's in your bag?" He set down the suitcase and began to open the suitcase despite the man's adamant protests in Hebrew and Yiddish.

"Oh, my God!"

_(enter NCIS theme)_

"Let's go!" Gibbs called as he hung up the phone. "We've got a Marine's head in a carry-on at Dulles!"

"How do they know it's a Marine, boss?" McGee asked as the three younger agents took off after him.

"One of the security officers recognized him. Roommate."

* * *

"Sergeant Dean Guenther, Quantico," Gibbs said as the team edged past the skittery travelers and under the crime scene tape. One border security guard was sitting on the conveyer belt, shaking, with two others trying to calm him down. Another couple of guards were arguing with an old man in a curtained-off section of the area. "Guard who found the head is Officer Mitchell Gervase."

"What happened, Officer Gervase?" Tony asked the guard.

"Well, Mr. Rosenberg was trying to get into the departures lounge again," the officer said shakily. "He's a little…" he twirled his finger at his temple. "Comes here about every coupla days, tries to pass. But today when I went to bring him to our detainment office, to call Rachel – that's his granddaughter – to pick him up, I noticed this… stuff coming out of his suitcase. And when I opened it…" he broke down again. "God, I just talked to him this morning!…"

"Where's the suitcase?" Gibbs asked. "And Rosenberg?"

"That's him there," said one of the other officers, putting a comforting hand on Gervase's shoulder while pointing to the elderly man. "But he doesn't speak too much English, so unless you know Israeli…"

"Hebrew," Ziva corrected automatically. "Israeli is a nationality, not a language. I will go speak to him, Gibbs," she said before he had even opened his mouth, heading for the curtains.

* * *

"I will take it from here, thank you, officers," Ziva said quietly as she slipped in. _"Shalom, Mar Rosenberg."_

_"Ha'im at medaberet ivrit?"_ he asked hopefully. _"Yisre'eli?"_

_"Ken,"_ Ziva said, careful to keep her tone level, calm and submissive – a man of his age most likely wouldn't appreciate being talked to as equals by a 'child', and a woman at that. "From Tel Aviv."

The man's face lit up at that statement. "I lived in Tel Aviv for many, many years. On Hayim Weizman Street."

Ziva couldn't stop the slight smile at the man's almost childlike speech. The poor man was probably suffering dementia. "I grew up on Zeitlin Street, sir. Not that far from Hayim Weizman. I had a friend who lived on that street."

"What was her name?"

"Her name was Eva-Sarah," Ziva replied. "Mar Rosenberg, why are you trying to go to Jerusalem?"

"I must go to Jerusalem. I must return to my post. I am a soldier of Israel. This you understand. I must return. I am needed to fight for Israel."

Ziva heard the sound of metal rattling around in his pocket. "Mar Rosenberg, what is in your pocket?"

"Sha, little girl, you are just like my granddaughter, always watching like a _yente_," he said dismissively. "These will let me anywhere." And from his coat pocket he pulled out a fistful of small military medals, placing them on the table in front of Ziva.

Ziva felt her heart literally skip a beat as she recognized that she was sitting across from what must have been a lifetime of military service and meritorious conduct.

Rosenberg seemed to recognize her expression and almost happily, he began to pick through each medal. With some difficulty, he lifted a golden medal dangling from a red, white, blue and black striped ribbon. Two Magen Davids graced the front of the medal, one joined with a sword, the other with an olive branch. "1967. Fighters Against Nazis." He picked up another one. "War of Independence."

Ziva scanned each of the 14 campaign ribbons and medals lying in front of her. Only once in her life had she seen a soldier with so many awards, and she was certain it was the same man. "Mar Rosenberg," she asked slowly, almost hating to interrupt the man's military nostalgia. "How did Sergeant Guenther's head end up in your suitcase?"

He looked at her suspiciously for a second, before he hastily starting gathering his treasures back into his pocket, shooting dark glares at her as he muttered, _"Judenrat… Du arbeitest für das Judenrat… Du arbeitest mit den Nazin…"_

"I do not work with the Nazis, Mar Rosenberg," Ziva said patiently. "The Nazis are all gone. I work to arrest them. I am Mossad."

"Mossad? Ha! There is no such thing as a Mossad…"

"Saba!" came a young woman's frustrated moan as she zipped in with Tony right behind her. "Oy vey, Saba, what have you done now?" She turned to Ziva and Tony, apologizing profusely, "I'm so sorry, officers. He escaped again and I feel bad locking him up… he has dementia…"

"Ziva, this is Rachel Meyer, Mr. Rosenberg's granddaughter," Tony said quietly.

The two women looked at each other a moment before Rachel exclaimed, "Ziva David?"

"Rachel Rosenberg?" Ziva asked in return.

"Not for a couple of years now, but yeah. Man, excuse me while I get a hold on my nostalgia! Wow, I didn't think I'd see you again in this lifetime!"

"You two know each other, I take it?" Tony asked, looking from woman to woman.

"Know each other?" Rachel said with a disbelieving laugh.

"We grew up across the street from one another," Ziva explained quietly to Tony.

"I don't think Saba recognizes you," Rachel told her, then turned to her grandfather. "Saba, this is Ziva. Benjamin's daughter."

"Binyamin," Ziva corrected.

"What's the difference?" Rachel said logically.

"Trust me, there is a big difference between Benjamin and Binyamin," Ziva sighed, rubbing her temples wearily as Rosenberg waved off his granddaughter, muttering,

"No, no, Benjamin's daughter is dead. The Arabs blew her up. They are all dead." And he began to hum a wordless prayer.

Sighing, Rachel waved an irritated hand in resignation and turned back to Ziva. "What did Saba do?"

"Tried to take the head of a US Marine through security," Tony replied quietly.

"Like his… _head_?" Rachel asked in astonishment, gesturing at her head. Ziva nodded, and Rachel said desperately, "Ziva, you cannot possibly be thinking of taking him into custody. You of all people…"

Ziva couldn't even reply, feeling a distinct uneasy sensation in her heart about this whole case.

* * *

Ziva had forgotten how entertaining and captivating Mar Rosenberg could be, not having seen him since his fall-out with her father many years ago.

"So we are stranded on this beach, yes," he said, gesturing a flat line with his hands to indicate the beach, "with the waves crashing and the fisherman crying for his broken boat. Such a _kaddish_ has never been said since, girls. And we hear the gunfire in the distance, and Konrad says, 'Where have we arrived, at the camps once more?'" He paused and Rachel cut in.

"How many times will you tell the orange story, Saba?" she asked tiredly, as Ziva turned into the driveway towards the Navy Yard.

"Did your mother never teach you to hold your tongue, child?" he asked sternly, before he continued, albeit on a completely different story. "Now, Ziva, your mother, your mother would have taught you to hold your tongue when an elder is speaking. Chanah was an Enoch. Now they knew etiquette, that family… Such a pleasant child I have never seen. Such a beautiful bride… I remember – "

Ziva rolled her eyes out of view of the mirror, handing her pass to the guard at the gate. "Rachel, the guard needs to see your ID as well. Mar Rosenberg," she added, looking back. "Do you still have your passport on you? They need to see identification."

"These Americans… identification here, identification there, you think you are in the Reich again…" Mar Rosenberg muttered, pulling out his passport.

* * *

"Ziva, take him down to interrogation," Gibbs said in a clipped tone.

Ziva shook her head. "I am sorry, Gibbs, I will not," she said quietly. "He should not be treated as a suspect."

"Officer David, what in my voice made that sound like a request?"

"Nothing, Gibbs, but I will not take him to interrogation. He is not a threat. We can _ask him questions_," she added pointedly, "up here." With that, she turned away and slipped into her chair, chatting lightly with Rosenberg.

"David…" Gibbs said warningly. "Get back here."

Sighing, Ziva rose again and rejoined him. "Yes, Gibbs?"

"You can't go soft on him, Ziva, because he's Israeli," Gibbs told her quietly. "Just because he's a demented old man doesn't mean he didn't kill him. Like it or not, he is a suspect."

Jenny appeared at the foot of the stairs just then. "Ziva? I have Mossad on tele-conference for you. They say it's urgent."

* * *

_"Ziva, under no circumstance is NCIS to hold Leo Rosenberg,"_ her father said sternly. _"I don't care what you have to do, who you have to torture or who you have to sleep with to do it, but he leaves today. They must not find him guilty, Ziva, no matter what he did or did not do. He is a Hero of Israel, they will not destroy his name with murder charges."_

"Yes, director," she said quietly, heart sinking. NCIS wouldn't release the suspected killer of a Marine.

_"Don't make me come out there, Ziva."_

"No, director."

* * *

"So what did Daddy want?" Tony asked as he caught her by the arm upon exiting MTAC. Pulling her out of the main thoroughfare into an abandoned small task room, Tony closed the door and blocked it from being opened.

"Nothing," Ziva replied quietly, so distracted and in such emotional turmoil that she automatically moved her head to allow him unguarded access to her neck.

"Liar, liar, pants on fire," Tony accused, trailing kisses across her neck and throat in an effort to get her to respond. "What did he want?" Secret on-the-job sex wasn't fun if she wasn't participating.

"Nothing."

Fine. If she wanted to play that game, he could too. She had taught him the art of interrogation by sex well. It may have been the only form of interrogation she swore she could withstand completely, but that was with strangers, terrorists who didn't know her like he did. Didn't know where to kiss, how to touch, what to say…

"It won't work, Tony," she said as he started to undo the buttons on her blouse.

"I know," he replied, sliding the shirt off.

Tony was certain that she would break by the time they were done, judging by the way her muscles, taut when they began, were relaxing as he started retracing the route of her life. The scar on her earlobe where she'd torn an earring out at age 6. The faint burn on her left shoulder from the explosion of a missile strike at age 12. The scar just below it from the shrapnel of a suicide bomber at age 21. The small tattoo just below her right breast – a Star of David with a pair of crossed swords and a lightning bolt – the marking of a Komemuite assassin. Her get-out-of-jail free card if ever a foreign authority tried to charge her with murder. She had broken once before to tell him the meaning of the tattoo and the circumstances under which she had first received it…

Tony paused as he remembered that night. The sex had been put on hold as she told him stories of seeing the slaughterers of her people face to face, of the men and women she had known in Tel Aviv who still bore the scars and the tattoos.

He had seen the numbered tattoo on Rosenberg's arm. He had caught sight of the military honours he carried in his pocket. Was this the same Mar Rosenberg she had told him about? The soldier who had fought Nazis as a child, survived concentration camps, smuggled himself to Palestine and fought for the establishment of Israel, fought for over forty years to guard his country? Who had earned every military distinction in Israel's history, was called a Hero of Israel? The same soldier who had taught the children of his neighbourhood the importance of guarding their country, product of a struggle going back centuries? The man Ziva had credited for her decision to join Mossad, to go beyond her mandatory two years in the IDF?

"Ziva?" he asked slowly, sinking into a nearby chair and bringing her with him. "What did he say?"

She was silent for a while, until he began to undo the button and fly on her jeans, pulling off her last layers and his as well. "Tony, do not do this to me," she moaned as he slowly began to tease her, hovering so close to her moist, throbbing folds that it tortured him as much as it did her to not take her. "Tony, please…" she begged, nails beginning to dig into his back as she arched instinctively, his mouth closing over one breast and pressing lightly at one sensitive nipple with his tongue. "_Tony_…"

He could hear her voice breaking. Next would come the tears. And then she would tell him what he wanted to know.

"Tony, stop or go," she groaned, the first of her sobs of frustration escaping. "Do not torture me like this. I will tell you. I will tell you, just _please_…" And he slid into her slowly, muscles closing around him in desperation as she rested her head against his shoulder and she gasped in relief.

She tried to get him to move faster, but he held her still, murmuring into her hair, "Tell me first."

"He wants me to get Rosenberg cleared and released today," she whispered, letting out a cry of dismay when Tony pulled out, getting to his feet. "_No_! I told you, I told you!" she pleaded as he pulled her to her feet as well. "Please, Tony, stop this…" she said with a sob, the pathetic hope in her eyes evident as he took her to the slightly more comfortable couch to begin anew. "I cannot take any more of this…"

"Not as much fun when you're on the other end, is it?" he whispered, laying her down.

"I will never do it again, Tony, never," she pleaded, a stray tear escaping even as he kissed it away gently.

"Oh, you will," Tony replied softly, laying light kisses on her eyelids as he slid in once more, her internal muscles immediately taking hold. Biting back the moan, he continued, "I didn't do it to hurt you, Ziva. You would have never told me otherwise, and we can't keep secrets from each other. We both know how badly that destroys."

Ziva nodded, a final sob racking her sweat-soaked body. Tony searched her face, a little surprised at how badly she'd taken the interrogation. Then he kissed her softly, tenderly as he began to set the pace – slower than normal. She was upset and wouldn't be able to take their usual rough pace.

* * *

Time began to slip away from her once more as she kept her gaze locked on his, seeing the apology for having scared her so in his eyes. She trusted him. She trusted him as she had nobody else, even Ari and Tali. She had never expected him to use her own interrogation technique against her, and so skilfully. She, one of the highest-trained Komemuite officers in all of Mossad, had broken in mere minutes against a first-time interrogator.

She arched her back with a moan of pleasure as he ravaged her body with gentle kisses, with feather-light touches and slowly-rocking thrusts. It made a change from their normal frantic lovemaking, where they were both so desperate to lead that they often couldn't figure who was in control, desperately touching and kissing and thrusting until they were both exhausted.

There was no question about who was in control now. This was an apology, a silent beg to let him make it up to her.

As the white-hot fires raced through her bloodstream, Ziva couldn't stop a cry, quickly swallowed by Tony's mouth, her pleasure climaxing. She remained in that drunken euphoria for a moment as he reached his breaking point, until the sensation left and she came crashing down along with him.

* * *

"Am I forgiven?" he gasped as he watched her face.

"Yes," she gasped in return, the single word beginning to slur from exhaustion.

"Ziva, _no_," he said gently, getting up and going to retrieve the various articles of clothing strewn around the room. As he redressed, taking her clothes back over, he saw that she had already fallen asleep. Sighing, he sat down carefully at the opposite end of the couch, managing to get her redressed without waking her. Maybe it was better to let her sleep for a while longer, while the rest of the team finished with taking Rosenberg into custody. It would save her the turmoil of being caught between her father's orders and Gibbs' orders.

Tony laid one last gentle kiss against her cheek and then left the room, closing the door quietly behind him. He nearly ran into Jenny as he did so, immediately stopping. "Oh, hello, director."

Jenny looked at him with that knowing look which said that she knew exactly what they'd been doing. Then she said quietly, "What did Mossad tell her?"

Tony sighed. "She needs to be taken off the case, director. Mossad's orders are in direct conflict with the investigation."

"They told her to get us to release him, didn't they?" Jenny asked. Tony nodded. "We can't let him go, Tony. Israeli or no Israeli, the man had a Marine's head in his suitcase. We don't just let people in that situation go."

"Not just released, Jen," he said quietly. "They wanted him cleared. He's somewhat of a legend in Israel."

"Can't do that."

"I know."


	2. Investigation

DISCLAIMER: I don't own any of NCIS.

NOTES: Sorry for the bad translation of German – I only speak English, French and a smattering of Spanish. I'm sure the translation is horribly wrong, because I tried the same phrase into French and it made no grammatical sense.

MORE NOTES: My mind feels so dirty. I've been doing research on hate groups and white supremacist factions in the US for the next chapter, and it just makes me sick, particularly the groups I've focused on for this story. Please keep in mind going forward that there will be racial slurs, there will be hate criminals and anti-Semitic ideology. **_I AM IN NO WAY ENDORSING THIS!!_**

* * *

**Chapter 2: Investigation**

"Where's Ziva?" Rachel asked as Tony and the director descended the stairs.

"Still on conference with Mossad," Tony lied. "We'll need to keep your grandfather here overnight for some more questions."

"What?" Rachel exclaimed. "No! No, you can't keep him here!"

Rosenberg asked her something in Hebrew, apparently getting anxious, and she responded. He looked as her and said something plainly, waving her off.

"Saba!!" Rachel groaned.

"What did he say?" Gibbs asked her.

"He said the soldier was a Nazi, and the world can do with one less Nazi."

* * *

Ziva stirred slightly as she woke up, realizing with a start that she must have fallen asleep in the task room. Why hadn't Tony woken her?, she fumed as she ran her fingers through her hair quickly to try and straighten it out, pulling the wrinkles out of her clothes, dusting them off. He would pay for it tonight. Oh, he would pay for this entire afternoon tonight…

Interrogate _her_, would he? Break _her_, would he? Oh, Anthony Daniel DiNozzo would regret the second he had started it…

Stepping out into the hallway, she noticed the lights were all dimmed. Great. She'd slept all afternoon. Gibbs was going to murder her. No, wait, her father would get first pickings. She lost her chance to free Rosenberg from custody, and all because she couldn't say no to a lover's caress.

Tony would die tonight.

* * *

He was waiting patiently at his desk for her when she came down, feet up, chair tilted back and cell phone out, playing some Tetris. "Feel any better?" he called, closing the phone.

"No," Ziva replied. "I feel worse. You are going to die."

"All right, so long as I can die in the comfort of my own bed," Tony teased lightly, taking her elbow and steering her back towards the elevators. "I thought I'd save you the grief, sweetcheeks. You weren't disobeying anybody's orders that way."

"Do not do that again, Tony," she said quietly. "My father is going to be furious."

* * *

"Oh, don't you _dare_," Tony exclaimed as her long fingers swiftly finished knotting the scarves around his wrists to the bedposts. "Hey, hey, this isn't fair! I never tied _you_ down!"

"Yes, but the scarves would not have held me down for long," she murmured, straddling his chest as she double-checked the knots, taunting him with the proximity of her tantalizing breasts to his mouth and purposely grazing a nipple against his lips.

"Come on, Ziva, I said I was sorry!" Tony whined, struggling to yank his wrists free of their restraints. "Let me out of these things…"

"Do not fight them," she advised, lips beginning to trail kisses down his face. "You will chafe your wrists."

"Ziva, please…"

She only smiled mysteriously and skipped over his mouth, tracing lines across his chest, around his nipples and down his abs until she had reached his hardening length.

"_Ziva…_" he groaned, straining against the scarves. "Ziva, stop it…" he gasped when she began teasing him, letting him feel just enough of her closing around him to make him buck up, hoping to regain control of the situation before he lost all sense of dignity.

"Ah-ah-ah, _I_ am the interrogator," she said smoothly, rising out of his reach again. "Tell me, Anthony DiNozzo, how much do you love me?" she asked, kissing him lightly.

"Don't love you at all right now, I hate you," Tony growled, though he hungrily tried to get her to deepen the kiss. "Untie me and maybe I'll show you how much I love you."

"No, no showing until you say it," Ziva breathed, giving him another torturous sensation. "How much, Tony?"

"Enough to let you believe I couldn't escape those scarves," Tony returned, sliding his wrists out with a momentary difficulty and catching her around the waist. Unceremoniously, he dumped her back onto the bed, taking her while she was still stunned. This time there was nothing slow, nothing gentle about it.

"You will regret that," she threatened with a gasp, pushing him down and under her with little effort. Almost ferociously, she took over the rhythm and kissed him hungrily. "How much do you love me?" she asked in a raspy voice as the fires began spreading through her body once more.

"More than anything," Tony groaned in reply, yanking her back underneath him and seizing control again. "You?" he gasped as she struggled to reassert control.

They fought for a few frantic minutes, sneaking in desperate kisses and furtive glancing touches and battling thrusts until Ziva triumphed this round, pinning him down as they both climaxed, and she gasped, "More than life itself."

* * *

Tony moaned in pain as he woke up to the sound of his blaring alarm. "God, we gotta stop doing that on worknights," he muttered, gingerly getting out of bed and stumbling for the bathroom blindly, every muscle aching. "Ugh… Ziva, you back yet?" he called tiredly. There was no answer, but then again, he hadn't really expected one.

But when he had finished his shower and she still hadn't returned, he started to worry. She wasn't answering her cell phone, and there was no note about a new route or any messages about any delays…

Tony dialled Gibbs.

* * *

"What do you want?" Ziva demanded as she felt the barrel of the handgun press deeper into her neck. "Who are you?"

_"Ruhe, Jude!"_ he growled. "Leave your things here. You will not need them where you are going."

Slowly, Ziva placed her cell phone, vibrating desperately with a call from Tony, her iPod, her ID and her water bottle and sweater on the ground, taking a step back just as her captor drew a large red swastika in spray paint over her possessions. Then he dropped a business-card size note on top.

_Eins weniger Jude in der Welt ist noch eine zu viele._

_(One less Jew in the world is still one too many)_

"Do you know what _der fuhrer _transported the Jews to his camps in, Jew?" he breathed into her ear. Ziva didn't reply. Of course she knew. Every Jewish child knew. Her father had recounted the story endless times. "Well, we don't have any trains, I'm afraid."

With that, her captor threw her into the back of a truck, boxed in with three other bodies, all dead. He closed the tailgate, locked it and secured the top lid, leaving Ziva's world in darkness.

* * *

"Do you think this has anything to do with the Guenther case?" McGee asked quietly, as Tony kept pacing around the bullpen, face pale and hands shaking as he ran them through his hair again.

He had already called the North American Mossad office. He had called the Israeli Embassy. Neither claimed any knowledge of where she was. He didn't want to think about how many different places she could've had an accident, all the dark, secluded places she could've encountered an ambush…

"We're going to have to put it on hold temporarily, boys," Gibbs said. "We just got a call to a possible abducted naval officer. Down in Greenburg Valley Park. The director is working on finding Ziva, Tony. We can't do any more right now."

* * *

"Called you as soon as we saw the ID," the police investigator said to Gibbs as the three men approached, Tony and McGee going on ahead to inspect the pile of belongings. "Couple of early-morning joggers saw it on a run. They say they believe it's another jogger they see most mornings. Dark-haired woman, they think she might be Hispanic or at least of a visible minority, probably in her mid-twenties, usually wears a yellow windbreaker. Occasionally accompanied by a brown-haired man in his thirties, _very_ occasionally –"

"Boss!" McGee yelled as Tony let out a strangled yell of distress. "Boss, it's Ziva!"

"I thought you said it was a naval officer!" Gibbs hissed at the investigator.

"Isn't she? It says Officer."

"No, she's an officer with Mossad. Liaison at NCIS, a member of my team. She's been missing since early this morning. Where's these joggers?" The investigator led Gibbs over to where a pair of joggers stood talking to another officer. "Special Agent Gibbs, NCIS. I understand you were the ones to find Officer David's things?"

"Who?" the woman asked, just as the man muttered,

"The girl in the yellow windbreaker." The man nodded as he continued. "We thought it was a little odd when we didn't see her this morning. It's a pretty regular crew out here at 5:30 in the morning. And I mean, she's _always _out here. Rain, snow, sleet, hail…"

Gibbs couldn't stop a laugh and a smile from escaping. "That's our Ziva," he muttered. "Little Mossad machine… So what did you do when you saw her stuff on the ground?"

"Well, we called the police when we saw the swastika. Didn't want to touch it," the woman said quietly. "Stuck around in case we needed to answer some questions."

"Had you seen anybody unusual out on the run today?" Gibbs asked. "Anybody who isn't normally out?"

"No," the man replied. "Just the usual 5:30 crowd."

"And who's the usual 5:30 crowd?"

"Not too numerous, and we don't have any names…"

"I don't care! Give me descriptions and times!"

"Well, there's the two guys in blue," the woman said. "Normally pass them at the corner of Parkshaven and White at 5:15. They're heading north as we're heading south. We turn into the park at about 5:25, same time as the two old ladies in red and purple. We run the same route for about five minutes, then we go left and they go right. We usually pass the girl in yellow about fifteen minutes after that."

"DiNozzo!" Gibbs yelled, and Tony appeared at his side in seconds.

"Yeah, boss?"

"What time does Ziva usually get back from her run?"

"Uh, I usually get beaten into consciousness at 6:30, and she's already showered and changed and had breakfast, so it must be before then."

"I need more specifics, Tony."

"Well, boss, I'm sleeping, I can't give you any more than that." When Gibbs gave him 'the ol' Gibbs stare', he amended, "Probably six, ten to."

"Better. How close is this to your place on foot?"

Tony looked down the path. "I'd say about seven, eight minutes. Ziva-speed, more like four, five."

* * *

"Director David, we are working as fast as we can to locate Ziva," Jenny said again as she locked gazes with the Mossad director over tele-conference. "It would help if you could unlock some of her case files."

_"Officer David's files are classified beyond any level of clearance you can hope to access, Director Shepard. You are saying you have no clue whatsoever as to her location?"_

"It would help enormously if we had access to her case files."

_"You are saying you have no idea where she is."_

"Director David, if you won't cooperate…"

_"NCIS clearly cannot accomplish this mission on their own. I will be there with my own officers in twelve hours. Pull your incompetent agents from this case, take what little information you have already and have it ready for my officers to use when they arrive. We will deal with the Rosenberg case while we are there as well."_

* * *

"What do you, _pull_ us?" Tony demanded. "Time is crucial, director, with all due respect! The longer we wait, the more time this bastard has to escape!"

"Mossad wants to handle this themselves. The deputy director himself is coming with his own team of officers," Jenny said, sighing.

"Like Deputy Director David himself will be here in –"

"Twelve hours, Agent McGee."

"I'm not dumping this case for twelve hours because he won't unlock her case files, director," Gibbs said angrily, and he stalked out of the office, howling at Tony and McGee to follow.

* * *

"Abby! Did you pull anything at all?"

"Well, um, paint's your garden-variety red spray paint, six dollars at any home renovation store. Card's plain cardstock, 1000 sheets for ten dollars at any home office supply store. Ink is from a generic inkjet printer, no identifying characteristics. No prints, Gibbs, I'm sorry. We can't track him any better than this."

"Does _someone_ know what this damn card says?" Gibbs asked irritably, pointing violently at the photo on Abby's screen.

"I know what that word means," McGee said, pointing at _Jude_. "That and the swastika… Neo-Nazis, maybe?"

"But how would they know she's Jewish, McGee?" Tony snapped. "Contrarily to popular Nazi propaganda in WWII, you can't tell somebody is Jewish by looking at them. About one person in the entire apartment complex has ever gotten her ethnicity right on the first try, and the guy was from Jordan."

"Well, the… necklace, Tony, kind of gives it away," Abby said quietly.

Tony whirled around and started in on her. "The star is _this_ damn big, Abby!" he growled, holding his fingers just far enough apart to indicate the size of the necklace. "It's hidden under her jacket any way."

"DiNozzo, calm down or you will be sent home," Gibbs said warningly. "So this guy either stumbled across her or targeted her specifically."

"Kind of a long shot to assume he stumbled across her," McGee picked up.

"So let's say he targeted Ziva specifically. How does he know her?"

"Could've… overheard her speaking Hebrew somewhere, somehow," McGee offered.

"Something a little probable, please, probie," Tony growled.

"Oh!" Abby exclaimed, jumping up from her chair. "The Embassy! Mossad office! How many times a week does Ziva go back and forth from there?"

"She's there easily three times a week," Tony said, looking at her. "I bet you anything there's a D.C. chapter of some kind of hate group watching the Israeli Embassy."

"McGee, get a hold of the Embassy. I want names, factions and any threats," Gibbs said. "Let's go, boys, we may get a lead yet before Mossad arrives."


	3. Mossad

DISCLAIMER: I don't own any of NCIS.

**_I DO NOT ENDORSE IN ANY WAY, SHAPE OR FORM THE ANTI-SEMITIC AND RACIST GROUPS, ACTIONS AND IDEOLOGIES IN THIS STORY._**

À murmure: LOL, que c'était drôle de voir mon premier revue en français! Même plus drôle que je ne remarquais même pas la langue avant la fin du revue! (Quand on prend en considération que je suis Anglophone…)

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Just for the record, if you lean toward antisemitism or racial supremacy in any way, shape or form, don't bother reviewing. I got a really weird review (anonymous of course) that I'm not sure what to make of. It has been deleted from the review board as a precautionary measure because although the reviewer made some safe comments relating to characterization, that one sentence about Jews really weirded me out. If you do make any sort of review that could be construed as racist, it will be deleted and/or reported as abuse.

* * *

**Chapter 3: Mossad**

"We have had a number of groups watching the Embassy as of late," Officer Michael Bashan said quietly as he set down the files in front of Gibbs. "A few of the more extremist groups have been threatening. Most have settled for surveillance, to try and rattle us."

"Which groups seem the most threatening?" Gibbs asked, picking up the files.

"These ones, if I had to lay a bet," Bashan replied, pulling out one file. "Part of the Christian Identity movement. The Virginia Christian Israelites, based in Round Hill, Virginia. In the last four weeks, they have been canvassing the area, staking out the Embassy, conducting 'open discussions'."

"Christian Israelites, they don't seem very threatening," McGee commented.

"It is not the ones screaming and hollering and burning crosses in front yards that you need to be wary of, Agent McGee," Bashan said quietly. "The extremists such as those may gather the most attention, but most rational people would not join such a group. No, it is the ones like these, who hide behind the image of a church, of a peaceful sounding name and a calm front, who gain members by discussions and canvassing. Those are the ones we concern ourselves with first. They gather far more numbers, and _that _is how the extreme groups grow."

"Why call themselves Israelites?" Tony asked. "Why identify themselves with Israel?"

"Because their ideology states that it is the European races, the Aryan races, who are the true tribes of Israel. That the temptation of Eve in Eden was sexual in nature, that Cain was the product of that union, Jews were descended from Cain and therefore were born of Satan. The more sedate ideologies say that the Jewish race is descended from Asiatic roots and thus not truly tribes of Israel."

"Round Hill, you say?" Gibbs said, still reading the files. "DiNozzo, where was Sergeant Guenther raised?"

"Uh, Round Hill," DiNozzo said. "You think this might be related now, boss?"

"Do I believe in coincidences, DiNozzo?"

"Of course not, boss."

* * *

Ziva moaned as she came to. Trying to move, she registered a shooting pain in her arm, almost like the stab of a needle.

"I wouldn't move, Jewess," came the voice of her captor. "You will only dig the needle in deeper."

"Who are you?" Ziva rasped, trying to focus her sights on the dark shadow. But her head felt woozy, her muscles heavy and she couldn't seem to focus on anything. "What do you want?"

Her captor only laughed and struck a match to light a lantern. Ziva's heart stopped when even with her blurred vision, she could make out the red flag on the wall and the black symbol that still struck fear into her very soul. A swastika. The Nazi flag.

They had no real motive to kill her specifically. She had just been a Jew in the wrong place at the right time.

She felt, as though from a great distance, a hand grab hold of her arm and pull it out, exposing the bare skin on her forearm.

"Oh, no, you don't," she muttered in Hebrew, trying to yank her arm back. "You have branded enough of my people."

"Restrain her," the captor, who was evidently the leader, ordered. "Be sure to take proper precautions."

* * *

"He's older than I expected," Tony said softly to McGee as they watched the Mossad team exit the elevator and be greeted by Jenny and Gibbs. "Deputy Director David?"

The deputy director looked to be easily in his 70s, his hair long since greyed with age. His outfit betrayed none of the signs of travel that his young officers did, the suit still immaculately straight.

"No kidding," McGee agreed. "Makes you wonder how he has a daughter as young as Ziva."

"And he had a younger one, still, remember?" Tony murmured. McGee nodded.

"He looks kind of scary, actually," Abby commented, leaning on McGee's desk.

"Agents DiNozzo and McGee will give your officers all the information we have gathered so far," Jenny said to the director as the group entered the bullpen.

David snapped something at a couple of his officers, and the three young men all advanced.

"You the Mossad answer to investigators?" Tony asked shortly, pushing over the box of files.

"They are my Intelligence officers," David replied coldly.

"Komemuite may want to stay as well," Gibbs said. "And my team _will_ be involved in this, Directors."

"No. You lost your chance to work on this case when you did not accomplish anything," David answered.

"With all due respect, Deputy Director, my people didn't have nearly enough time to accomplish anything. We've made a lot of progress in the last twelve hours. Like it or not, Deputy Director, Ziva is one of my people, and I don't leave my people behind."

"Agent Gibbs, she is my officer, not your agent."

"Agent Gibbs, Deputy Director David, let's continue this discussion upstairs," Jenny said pointedly.

"Fine," Gibbs muttered with a glare at David.

"Very well," David replied, snapping his fingers at one of the officers – the one Tony couldn't believe was Mossad. He reminded him of the stammering little tailor in _Fiddler on the Roof_. The officer jumped to attention and quickly followed the directors upstairs while the others gathered in the bullpen.

"We meet again," the solitary woman commented dryly to Tony. It was the same woman that Tony had flirted with all those years ago at the Embasero, when he was tailing Ziva. "You must be -"

"Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo, NCIS," he finished, holding out his hand for her to shake.

"Officer Myriam Rogel, Komemuite," she replied. "And you are?" she asked McGee and Abby.

"Special Agent Timothy McGee, NCIS," McGee said quickly.

"Abby Sciuto, Forensics," Abby added.

"So who are the guys supposedly tracking down these bastards?" Tony asked.

"That would be Officers Heidelmann, Meir and Rosen," Myriam replied, gesturing for the three young men to step forward. "They are with Mossad Intelligence."

"What have you so far?" asked one, taking the first file and opening it. "I am Rosen, by the way. Simon Rosen."

"We think a local chapter of the Christian Identity might be behind this."

"No," said one of the others, looking over Simon's shoulder. "They are too sedate. The culprits may be members of the Christian Identity, but the group responsible will be one of the extremists. The people watching the Embassy, yes, they would be CI. The abductors? No. They will be National Socialist Movement or something of the same nature."

"Do not say that to the director, Malachi," Myriam murmured quietly. "You suggest that Ziva has been abducted by Nazis and he will lose control."

"And then we will have no grounds whatsoever to try them and have them executed," muttered one of the other men.

"You think those bastards are living long enough to be tried?" Tony asked. "No. Gibbs'll take them down the second he sees the gleam of the sun off their skinhead scalp."

"That would be our job, Agent DiNozzo," said one of the Komemuite officers. "However, we would appreciate any information that you may be able to give us."

"Let's get names straight first, shall we?" Tony said. "I prefer knowing the names of the people I'm working with. You're Myriam. You're Simon."

"Yeah, who's in what unit?" Abby asked, sitting down on McGee's desk.

"Malachi Meir and Zelig Heidelmann are the other Intelligence officers working with Simon," Myriam said shortly. "Myself, Sulaiman Ben-Tsion and Lev Meyer are the Komemuite detail."

"We would be the judiciary consultants," spoke up the man who had muttered about the grounds. "Chaim Cohen."

"Hiram Davidovich," said the other.

"And who's the little one upstairs?" Tony asked. "The one who looks he jumped out of _Fiddler on the Roof_?"

Despite the gravity of the situation, the Mossad officers laughed. "That is Mordecai Horowitz," Simon said. "Affectionately known as Motel – and yes, Agent DiNozzo, he earned the nickname in part because of the film. He would be the unfortunate soul assigned to administration."

"In simpler terms, Motel is Deputy Director David's assistant," Chaim said. "There are days I think he has the hardest job out of any of us. The director is nearly impossible to please, and he has quite the temper."

* * *

Every part of her body seemed to burn with fever and every muscle with pain. Her arm throbbed, she could feel her hair catching in the latches and buckles of the straps holding her head down. When she tried to move, she could feel the restraints against her wrists and ankles.

"Do you feel it, Jewess?" he asked. "Do you feel your death approaching?"

Ziva tried again to free herself, resulting only in another lightning bolt of pain shooting through her body. "What are you doing to me?" she asked, her voice slurring and her tongue as heavy as lead in her mouth.

She could hear gunfire, the explosions of bombs, screams of pain and the cries of the dying. She could smell the smoke, the stench of dead bodies and the metallic scent of blood.

"I'm going to enjoy watching another Jew die."

* * *

"They will have done more than just kidnap Ziva," Zelig said quietly. "It is just past Yom HaShoah, they will have done this to more than one."

"Running a search on missing Jews in the tristate area over the last two months," McGee said immediately.

"Find out how many cell groups are operating in this area," Sulaiman said. "They will be operating within a familiar place, where they know the entrances, exits and security levels."

"Residences, churches, meeting places, offices," Myriam said, sliding into Ziva's chair and beginning a search on the computer. "You do not run Mac at NCIS?"

"No, we run PC," McGee replied, just as Myriam started tapping keys irritably. The computer began beeping insistently.

"Just hit it, Myriam, it will be fine," Simon called, still reading the files.

"Go fix Ziva's computer, McGeek," Tony ordered. "So what's the deal on this Rosenberg case?"

"Right, Rosenberg," Malachi muttered. "Uhh, Lev, Chaim, Hiram, you come down with me and we'll try and get that one straightened out."

"I'll go with you," Tony said immediately.

"Why?" Lev asked.

"Because Gibbs will rip me limb from limb if there isn't an NCIS agent present."

* * *

"According to Mar Rosenberg, your Marine was a Nazi," Chaim told Tony as they stood inside the observation room. "Saw him several times in Round Hill with a group of other Nazi officers."

"With all due respect, Officer Cohen," Tony said stiffly, "Rosenberg is, like, eighty years old and demented. He probably mixed up Nazi uniform with Marine uniform."

"Agent DiNozzo, Mar Rosenberg is one of the most decorated officers in Israel's history," Chaim replied. "The man knows the difference between a Nazi and an American Marine."

"Yeah, my great-uncle Nicolas in his youth knew the difference between men and women. Didn't stop him from calling my father Antonia after he went demented."

"Even so, Agent DiNozzo, you said it yourself: Mar Rosenberg is elderly. Perhaps he did make a mistake. He is not competent to stand trial at any rate."

"That's for a court-appointed psychologist to decide, Officer Cohen," Tony replied quietly.

* * *

"Well, I'll leave you here, Jewess, with my capable lieutenant," her captor's voice came floating. "I figure you'll probably live another six hours. Just think - another six long, excruciatingly painful hours and you'll be in the afterlife." He paused and then said to somebody else, "Make sure she suffers for at least another three hours."

"Yes, Commandant."

Ziva struggled to take in another breath. Why did the room seem to spin? Why did it hurt every time she moved? Why did it feel as though she was burning from the inside out? Why could she hear voices she hadn't heard in years: voices calling her, beckoning to her, pleading with her to come?


	4. Maybe Too Late

DISCLAIMER: I don't own any of NCIS.

_**I DO NOT ENDORSE IN ANY WAY, SHAPE OR FORM THE ANTI-SEMITIC AND RACIST GROUPS, ACTIONS AND IDEOLOGIES IN THIS STORY.**_

**

* * *

**

Chapter 4: Maybe Too Late

"What have you got?" Gibbs asked as the sun was setting and he and David finally emerged from Jenny's office.

"Uh, ten Jewish adults missing from the tristate area over the last two months, boss. Five missing Jewish children. Most seem to be in Virginia, concentrated around the Round Hill area," McGee reported, passing Gibbs a copy of the missing persons reports.

"Rosenberg claims that Guenther was a Nazi," Tony reported. "Very insistent on that point, I'm still trying to figure out if he had any ties to pro-Nazi movement."

"Anything that helps us find Ziva?" Gibbs asked irritably.

"There are only three known NSM locales in Virginia, Maryland and D.C.," Zelig said quietly. "Two of them are in residential areas and thus are not viable locations for holding a hostage. The third, however, is in a rural area, in a former medical facility. Myriam, Sulaiman and Lev are on their way to intercept."

"Well, DiNozzo, what the hell are you doing still here?" Gibbs snapped. "Catch up with them!"

* * *

The voices were stronger now, swirling around her like snowflakes falling on a winter morning. Her skin felt hypersensitive, and every touch, every pinprick, every brush that the lieutenant made upon her was torture. She felt dehydrated, her lips dry and her skin drying out. She could hardly move for the pain it caused.

"I have to leave now, Jewess," came the lieutenant's voice in her ear, making her flinch from the pressure of his lips against her ear. "It's been fun. Enjoy hell." And with that, he ripped off the restraints and let her fall to the hard cement floor.

Faintly, Ziva heard the strike of a match and the roar of flames taking to acclerant.

So this was what it felt like to die, she thought feverishly, trying without success to crawl forward. She had to admit that the experience was not enjoyable. Probably the reason God made people only go through it once.

* * *

"Oh, God, no..." Tony said as he jumped out of his car at the abandoned building to find it in flames. "Ziva!"

* * *

"Sulaiman, go, go, go!" Myriam screamed, shoving her colleague forward. "Get her out!"

"Myriam, we don't even know where she is! Look at the size of this place, Ziva could be anywhere!" Sulaiman shouted.

"Sulaiman!" Myriam screamed again. "Lev! _Somebody _go get her!"

* * *

Tony had a mild moment of panic when he realized that he was, in fact, running directly into a burning building on a futile search. "Ziva!" he yelled, coughing when he inhaled smoke with his yell. "Ziva!"

He found her lying on the floor of an operating room, bloodied and bruised and burning with fever. "Ziva, Ziva, can you hear me?" he shouted as he knelt down next to her. There was no movement from her body, but Tony still gathered her up protectively in his arms to rush out.

* * *

"Ziva!" he heard Myriam cry again as he dropped to the ground yards away from the building, laying Ziva down on the grass as gently as he could. She stirred briefly.

"Just hang on, Ziva, help is coming," Tony murmured to her, closing one hand around hers as he dialled 911. When he had given them the location and a plea to hurry, he turned his attention back to Ziva, worriedly going over her inch by inch.

She was beet red from a combination of the heat of the fire and a rash, with numerous slashes running across her body, her clothing nearly torn to shreds. There was evidence of a bad beating, multiple beatings, by the looks of it. There were numerous broken bones. There was an irritation in the crook of her arm that looked to be from a needle injection. The other arm had a string of random numbers inked into it. She still had her necklace, bloody though it was, and the red cut around her throat indicated that it had been used to try and cut off air. Her forehead, shoulders, wrists, waist and ankles all had large red bands of chafing on them.

"Ziva," he whispered to her softly, leaning in to kiss her dried-out lips lightly. "Ziva, hang in there."

Her eyes were still open, though they were glassy with feverish delirium and wouldn't focus on anything. Her lips moved, but no words came out.

"I'm right here, sweetheart," Tony said soothingly, holding onto her hand. "I'm not going anywhere."

"Ziva? Ziva?" Myriam exclaimed, kneeling down beside her old colleague with Lev and Sulaiman. She kept on going in Hebrew anxiously.

The two men, meanwhile, were examining the numbers on her arm, frowns darkening as they realized what had been done.

* * *

"They got Ziva," McGee said without delay as he hung up the phone. "That was Tony. They're at the Norfolk Naval Hospital."

"How is she?" Gibbs asked as he grabbed his coat.

"Not good, according to Tony. And if Tony's admitting that..."

"Hey!" Gibbs yelled back at David. "You want to see your daughter or not?"

* * *

"You're going to have to leave, sir," the nurse said quietly, but firmly as she entered.

"No," Tony replied stubbornly. Ziva was still knocked out from the sedatives they had given her before they had taken her into surgery to fix her broken bones. "I'm staying right here – what's with the mask?"

"The pathology test suggests that Miss David may have typhus, Agent DiNozzo."

"Officer," Tony said. "It's Officer David."

"Sir, you need to leave the room now. You may already contracted the disease."

"So, really, it doesn't matter, then," Tony shrugged, brushing a lock of hair from Ziva's face as it fell into her eyes again.

"Sir..."

"I'm not leaving, nurse, I'm sorry," Tony said again. "Listen, I know you're just doing your job, but I'm not leaving her alone here after all of this."

"I wouldn't advise it, Agent DiNozzo," the voice of the lead doctor on the team came as he walked into the room robed, gloved and masked. "Typhus isn't an illness you want to be struck with. I know you're concerned, but for your own safety, we need you to evacuate the room."

"Anthony, get out!" came Ducky's crisp order from the doorway. "Do not make me come in there and Gibbs-slap you!"

"Don't make _me_ come in there and slap you, DiNozzo!" Gibbs' voice echoed behind Ducky's. "Get the hell out of there now!"

Tony hesitated, rubbing his thumb lightly across the back of Ziva's hand. "I'm sorry, sweetcheeks," he said softly. "Wake up soon, hey?" Then he stood up and let the doctor escort him from the room.

"We're going to give you a shot of tetracycline, just to be on the safe side, Agent DiNozzo," the doctor said as he rolled up Tony's sleeve. "Like I said, you don't want typhus."

"Have you started the tetracycline on her yet, doctor?" Ducky asked briskly.

"We've started it just now, Doctor Mallard," the doctor replied, finishing Tony's shot. "However, considering how long ago the exposure was, I'm going to be frank with you – we may be too late."

"What do you mean, how _long_ ago?" Tony snapped, pulling his arm out of the doctor's hand. "She's been missing less than twenty-four hours! And I'd know if she's been anywhere that she would've picked up damn typhus!"

"Have your pathology lab run a few more tests," Ducky ordered. "See if the bacteria hasn't been modified in any way."

David showed up just then, followed by the rest of the Mossad officers. "Where is she?" he demanded immediately. "I demand to speak to the doctor in charge!"

"That would be me, sir," the doctor spoke up, turning from Ducky. "Doctor Henry Ryan. You are?"

"Deputy Director David of Mossad," David replied crisply.

* * *

"God, you can see where Ziva gets it," McGee muttered under his breath to Tony as he watched David begin snapping short questions, the doctor startled and maybe a little flustered as he tried to answer them as best he could in the time allowed. "Her interrogation style."

"Hmm?" Tony said, eyes still locked on Ziva's motionless body on the other side of the ICU glass. "Sorry, Tim, I wasn't listening."

McGee stopped for a second. Tim? _Sorry_, Tim? No Mc-Anything-Derogatory, no Probie, no witty comeback? An apology, and his _name_? Tony must really be shaken.

Tony watched Ziva for a moment longer, then turned his eyes towards David. "Remind you of anybody, McGee?"

Finally, David snapped an order at Motel in Hebrew, making his point emphatically with hand gestures. Then he stormed out. Motel shot a glance at his colleagues, clearly complaining about something. The other officers were sympathetic, but clearly couldn't help him.

"He's got the same look you did when Gibbs told you to track down that Naughty Naughty Neighbours money," Tony commented. "The dead-agent-walking look."

* * *

"How am I supposed to get that arranged?" Motel asked his colleagues pleadingly. "It's not a transfer order! They won't do it!"

Simon shrugged as Sulaiman patted Motel's shoulder sympathetically. "I don't know, Motel, but you told him you would."

"Because you don't tell Director David 'no'!" Motel hissed in a panic. "Ziva doesn't even get away with it!"

"Then I would say you're a dead officer walking, Motel," Myriam said.

"God help me, I have 24 hours to get an ICU patient to Tel Aviv..." Motel moaned, frantically rubbing his forehead. He gasped. "I have it! Myriam, shoot me!"

"What?" Myriam asked.

"That's the only way I'm getting out of this! Shoot me!"

* * *

Binyamin David sat down next to his childhood friend in NCIS lock-up. "Leo," he asked quietly, "Why does it still hurt so?"

"I don't know, Benjamin," Leo replied, lucid for once in his thoughts.

"How can it be that I spent my entire life hunting down these bastards, and they still gather in such great numbers? That they can still do this to our children?" he asked, pulling up the sleeve of his shirt to gaze at the weathered number on his arm. "She looked as bad as Nico did, Leo." He pulled the sleeve back over, saying bitterly, "Is it just my fate in life to lose them, Leo?"

"Ziva is resilient," Leo said quietly. "She will recover."

"I want her back in Tel Aviv," Binyamin said firmly. "I told Officer Horowitz to make it happen. As soon as she is stable." He paused, still rubbing his arm. "I cannot lose another child, Leo. She is my last. My only child."


	5. Revealing The Past

DISCLAIMER: I don't own any of NCIS.

* * *

**Chapter 5: Revealing The Past**

NCIS had set up office in the hallway of Norfolk Naval Hospital's ICU unit with Mossad coming in and out.

"Do you think that it's just a case of 'right place, wrong time'?" Tony asked.

"It takes a lot of time to be able to track a single person like that," Gibbs said with a shake of his head. "They would've had to find where she was vulnerable. Probably followed her for days..."

"So Ziva in particular, why?" McGee asked. "Because of Ziva, or because they happened to focus on her instead of some other officer?"

Jenny, meanwhile, had gone over to where Motel was desperately arguing with the head nurse.

"No, ma'am, you do not understand. Ziva must be in Tel Aviv by this time tomorrow, or I die."

"I'm sorry, Officer, we can't transfer a patient in ICU out of our hospital."

"She is stable, is she not?"

"Yes, but until she is released from care, she can't leave the US. And NCIS will need her for their investigation."

"Officer Horowitz," Jenny said, putting a hand on the young man's shoulder. Motel jumped and turned around. "Let me handle the deputy director. You've tried all you can."

* * *

Jenny entered her office to find the shades drawn, the lights dimmed and a picture of what looked like a party of Nazis on her LCD. David was sitting silent in her chair, leaning forward on her desk with his chin resting lightly on his intertwined fingers as he stared at the photo.

"I thought I was the only one who sat in the dark staring at pictures," Jenny said with a quiet smile as she closed the door behind her.

"I have spent sixty years hunting these bastards and killing them," he said quietly. "And no matter how many we put away or execute, another three take their place."

"You're looking at it the wrong way, Binyamin," she said. "Or is it Benjamin?"

"Binyamin."

"But not always?"

"No. I changed it when my first family died. Too many unpleasant memories associated to the name. How should I look at this, Jennifer? They abducted _my_ daughter. They beat her the way my elder brother was beaten, drugged her the same way my brother and I were drugged, raped her as my sister was, infected her with the same disease that killed one of my elder brothers. Tried to kill her the way my father and mother and brother and sister were. The tattoo is the same as mine."

"A coincidence, maybe?"

"No. Not a coincidence." He looked around her desk. "How do you change the picture on this thing?"

"The remote right there," Jenny replied, pointing out the correct remote to him. He picked it up and frowned at the fifty tiny buttons, tossing it at her with a disgruntled 'hmph'.

"Too much technology in this world," he muttered, making Jenny bite back a slight smile. "Find Ziva's tattoo." Once Jenny had flipped through the pictures, he stood up and pointed to the 8. "See this 8?"

"The top half is substantially bigger than the bottom half," Jenny noted.

Binyamin pulled up his sleeve again, showing her the same number on his own arm. The same incongruity was on his arm. "How can they know so much? I changed my name. Camp records were mostly destroyed by the Nazis. They are making a statement, and I want them dead for what they did to Ziva."

"My team and yours are working together to find these bastards, Binyamin," Jenny said quietly. "But you're right: another three will just take their places. They'll be made martyrs for their cause. Because we're only eliminating the people, not the idea."

He sighed and then closed his eyes, leaning back. "When I was a little boy, in Germany, I can still remember listening to Hitler's speeches on the radio. My father – he was a metalworker, in Hamburg – used to listen, just to teach my eldest brother Theodore about the power of words. Theodore was ill, never very strong. He was 18 when we were sent to Auschwitz. He and my mother and my elder sister Gretchen – she was 11, only a year older than I – were the first to be killed. _Herr Doktor Mengele_ took my brother Konrad and myself – we were children, but twins, you know. We were the only ones to live past liberation. My father, my mother, my grandparents and aunts and uncles and cousins... I had two sisters and four brothers, and only Konrad and I survived."

Jenny wisely chose not to say a word during this little nostalgia moment.

Binyamin paused for a moment, looking at her. "Feel free to halt me," he said. "Ziva has heard the story countless times, she stops me all the time." When Jenny said nothing, he continued.

"My brother Nicolaus died two days after Auschwitz was liberated. Typhus fever. After that, Konrad and I, and Leo Rosenberg, had to fend for ourselves. Do you know what it is like, Jennifer, to be 15 years old and have no family, no life, no roots?"

"So you went to Israel," Jenny said.

"To Palestine, there was no Israel in 1946 when we left the DP camp. We had to somehow find our way to Palestine, and we ended up on this fishing boat carrying illegal immigrants into the British Mandate of Palestine..."

_

* * *

_

"And we were on there for many days and many nights," 24-year-old Benjamin said, holding his 4-year-old daughter on his lap. "So many nights, Caterina, can you imagine? On a fishing boat that stunk of guts and fish and rot."

_Caterina's blue eyes went wide and she asked, "Papa, was it scary?"_

_"Only a little bit, my girl, only a little bit," Benjamin laughed, tousling her blond hair. Martine entered just then with 1-year-old Andreas sleeping in her arms._

_"Benjamin, stop it, you'll scare her," she scolded. "Caterina, come, it's time for bed."_

_"But I want to hear the rest of the story first, Mama!"_

* * *

Binyamin's mind sped forward years later, to a different daughter and the same story.

_

* * *

_

"There was a great storm the night we arrived in Tel Aviv, Ziva," 56-year-old Binyamin said. "The boat rocked so much it almost overturned and then it crashed into one of the rocks off the shore."

_"With no life jacket, Papa?" 4-year-old Ziva asked._

_"With no life jacket. I had to swim to shore with nothing except what I wore. And when I and Mar Rosenberg and Konrad arrived, Ziva, do you know what we heard?"_

_"Guns," 17-year-old Ari said in bored Arabic as he entered the room, setting down his duffel bag and pulling off his riding gloves. "We were shooting."_

_"Well, not _you_, Ari, you weren't even born yet," Ziva said innocently, wriggling down from her father's lap to dash for her brother. "And you wouldn't shoot Papa. You don't shoot family," she continued, laughing when Ari swung her up into the air and onto his hip._

_The tone of the room had subtly changed when he had changed the language. Without even thinking, Ziva had changed to Arabic the moment Ari spoke, leaving Binyamin instinctively defensive, and Ari knew that his father hated speaking Arabic, and hated that his daughter spoke it like her mother tongue, full well._

_"Ziva, come finish the story," Binyamin cajoled in Hebrew._

_"Maybe she's tired of your story, Father," Ari said coolly in Arabic, as Ziva seemed so absorbed in playing with her brother's riding gear that she didn't hear Binyamin's request. She was too busy pulling on the gloves too big for her hands and the helmet far too large for her head. His son sent a smirk of triumph in his direction:Ari had won Ziva's affections for the night._

_"The both of you, don't get into an argument over her," Chanah ordered sternly in Hebrew as she entered. "Zivaleh, come, it's time for bed."_

_"But don't I get to finish my story first?" Ziva asked plaintively, as Ari set her down on the ground. "Papa, finish the story," she pleaded, climbing back up onto his lap. "You heard guns when you got to the shore. Ari will be quiet and listen."_

_"I'll be in my room," Ari corrected tersely, as Binyamin returned the smirk with one of his own and pulled his daughter in closer._

* * *

Binyamin halted his memories right there before they ate at any more of his heart. He missed those days where Ziva had adored him and would gladly climb up into his lap as a child to listen to him every night.

* * *

"So if I put on the whole alien outfit, can I go in?" Tony asked one of the nurses as she exited. Ducky had been in there for most of the night, robed, masked and gloved, apparently reciting a number of his famously long-winded stories for Ziva, who was still so fevered she couldn't hold a lucid conversation.

"Sure," the nurse replied. "Just make sure you've got gloves on as well. Your ME seems to think she may have been injected and thus is not infectious, but we don't want to take any chances until we confirm it."

* * *

"Ziva, I leave you in Anthony's capable hands," Ducky said as he passed Tony. Holding him by the arm briefly, Ducky said to Tony, "She has been hallucinating. Don't be surprised if she doesn't recognize you."

"Thanks, Ducky," Tony said quietly, slipping into the chair next to Ziva. "Hey, you," he greeted softly as he picked up her limp hand and she turned over to look at him, slightly unfocused.

"... Rafi?" she asked hoarsely.

"No, it's Tony," Tony said patiently. "You still feeling like crap, then?"

Ziva asked something in Hebrew.

"Oh, so you're going to be like that, with the Hebrew?" Tony asked teasingly. "All right, well, I'm just going to guess at what you asked. Probably asked where you are, and the answer is Norfolk Naval Hospital. Then you would probably ask why, and the answer would be because a couple of skinheads snagged you on your run yesterday morning and tried to recreate the Third Reich in a day. And then you would probably ask why I haven't kissed you yet, and the answer would be that the doctors think you're infectious. That's it in a nutshell, really."

Tony snuck a glance behind him to make sure no pesky nurses were watching, and then pulled down his mask to lay a kiss on her lips. "Nurses just don't get that I have to kiss you," he said softly, smiling as her lips twitched ever so slightly. "Remember me now, Zi-va?"

He grinned and kissed her again as she managed to lift her arm and brush her hand against the back of his head. "Did you just try to Gibbs-slap me, Officer David?"

"May...be..." Ziva rasped, pulling another kiss from him. Her next question came out in slurred Hebrew as the recent activity seemed to drain her and her hand dropped back down to the bed. Tony released her lips and helped her lay her head back down on her pillow.

"I'll stay right here, Ziva," he murmured, pushing back a damp curl that had fallen into her face.

"She asked if you have caught the bastards yet," came Simon's voice from the doorway. Tony turned around, seeing the Intelligence officer standing just inside, dressed just like Tony, except minus the mask. He answered Ziva in Hebrew, coming around to the other side of the bed. With difficulty, Ziva turned her head towards Simon, asking something else. He responded, a slight smile making its way onto his face.

"You mind, uh, filling me in here?" Tony asked, feeling the slightest twinge of jealousy.

"Oh, she is asking me when I returned from San Salvador," Simon replied. "She is a little behind in the time."

"So you're the Simon of San Salvador?"

"I am the Simon of San Salvador."

* * *

"Pull Guenther's service records, McGee," Gibbs ordered. "Check for any tattoos."

"Uh, he wouldn't have any known hate symbols, though, boss, Corps wouldn't let him..." McGee protested. At Gibbs' dark glare, he amended, "But you know that. Pulling service records."

"I can save you the time, Agent McGee," Malachi said as he came into the bullpen, closely followed by the other officers save Simon. He set down a folder on Ziva's desk, where David was sitting back in her chair. The deputy director picked it up and began reading through it. "Embassy security cameras place your sergeant outside with known CI members for at least four months before now. One camera," he paused to pull a photo from the file in David's hand, "managed to capture a tattoo on his forearm."

Gibbs yanked the photo from Malachi and looked at it. On the man's arm was the Marines insignia. "That's not a hate symbol, Meir, I hate to break it to you. That's the Marine insignia."

"Look closer," Malachi said, "And you'll find it hidden inside the insignia."

David, who was flipping through the photos quickly, asked something sharply in Hebrew. Zelig replied immediately. The deputy director snapped his fingers at the three Komemuite officers, who all nodded and left rapidly.

"Where are they going?" Gibbs asked.

"To kill the bastards who did this to Ziva," David replied, closing the file folder.

* * *

"Should we have told them the culprits are Marines?" Myriam asked quietly as she lay in wait in a corner alley.

_"Should we have ignored a direct order from the deputy director?"_ Sulaiman asked pragmatically over the radio.

"This is going to be a political nightmare," Myriam muttered. "Chaim and Hiram are going to kill us."

_"NCIS is going to kill us," _Lev agreed.

_"We'll be long since back in Israel by the time NCIS discovers the bodies,"_ Sulaiman said. _"All of us."_

_"Including Ziva,"_ Lev said.

* * *

"McGee, run facial recognition software on these guys," Gibbs ordered as he found the screenshot of the men tailing Ziva the day before her abduction.

"Sergeant Dean Guenther, Corporal Hayden Ryan, Captain Rhett Parker and Private Jonathan Nemchyk, all USMC," David spoke up, tossing a second file onto Gibbs' desk. "Private Nemchyk is well-known in his unit for his rather public sentiment about Jews. Corporal Ryan has a misdemeanour report in his service records for a fight with a fellow Marine, reportedly about a Jewish officer on base. Captain Parker was under investigation for suspected hate group involvement. Sergeant Guenther's entire family are known Virginia Christian Israelite members."

"DiNozzo, McGee, go round them up for questioning. Where are _your_ officers?" Gibbs asked David. "Your Komemuite officers."

"Doing their job, Special Agent Gibbs."

* * *

"We believe that she will make a full recovery, Agent DiNozzo, Officer Rosen," the doctor said quietly as he checked her heart rate, blood pressure, all those normal things. Ziva had fallen asleep again, Tony still holding her hand tightly. "It may take quite a while yet..."

"But she can do so in Tel Aviv, can she not?" the deputy director asked as he entered the room. "As soon as she can be released without endangerment, doctor, I want her transferred to Tel Aviv care."

Tony tightened his hold possessively. "Sir, you can't – "

"Do not tell me what I can and cannot do, Agent DiNozzo," David said warningly. "Approximately how long, doctor?"

"I would estimate another week or so at least, Director David," the doctor replied, making a few notes on Ziva's chart. With that, he left again, leaving Tony and David glaring at each other.

* * *

"Officer Rosen, please leave us for the moment," Binyamin said quietly in Hebrew to his officer. Simon nodded and left, and Binyamin took his place. "I am truly sorry, Agent DiNozzo, but you must have realized that she would not be in America forever." He didn't look at Tony while he said this, choosing instead to smooth back the wayward hairs falling into Ziva's face. "Ziva belongs in Israel."

The young American watched him for a moment, still holding to Ziva's hand. "You have no idea where Ziva belongs, Deputy Director David, and you have no idea who your daughter is."

"I would watch what you are saying, Agent DiNozzo," Binyamin replied coldly.

"I bet you couldn't tell me what her favourite movie is, what kind of music she likes, what her favourite food is."

"What use is that?"

"I also bet that you can't tell me what makes her cry, what makes her laugh, what makes her angry. You probably couldn't tell me where the scar on her right arm came from, when she got the tattoo on her back hip or how many times a night she wakes up with nightmares. Probably couldn't tell me why she has to check the locks on the doors every night before she sleep, or how many times a day she mixes up her idioms." Tony sighed, leaning on the bed with his elbows as he watched Ziva's battered face.

Binyamin didn't reply, because he knew that he couldn't answer any of those questions. The young agent had a valid point: he knew nothing about Ziva. He could have answered those questions on Caterina, on Andreas, on Karl. But Ari and Ziva and Tali? No, he knew nothing about them.

"Her favourite movie is _Ladder 49_," Tony said quietly. "She likes any kind of music with a beat, and pizza with extra cheese and olives. She got the scar on her arm when the Iranians framed her last year in the explosion in Georgetown. She's had the tattoo since she was 17. She wakes no less than twice a night with nightmares, and she checks the locks to make sure that no one has tampered with them. I've stopped counting how many expressions she mixes up in a day." He sighed and watched her face again. "She pushes her hair back when she's nervous, and her eyes turn lighter when she laughs... And she's never sick. Even when she is sick, she isn't. She tries to be Superwoman and she doesn't stop until she drops of exhaustion or somebody stops her. And even then she tries to get around it."

Binyamin left the young American still keeping guard by his daughter's bedside. He couldn't handle any more of those softly-accusing statements.

Perhaps he had made a mistake. He had lost his family to the Nazis, his first wife and children to Hamas. When he had married Chanah, he had not expected to have children. No, Hasmia had had Ari, and that was supposed to be the end. He was so involved in Mossad at that time, so often at work and so rarely at home that he barely knew his second wife: knew that she was young, beautiful, a traditionalist but contemporary. He had been a field officer at the time, always gone on another mission for months on end. He had left on a mission barely two weeks after their wedding, and by the time he had returned, Ziva had already been two months old.

He had tried. He had tried to bring himself to become attached to his children, but he couldn't do it. He couldn't run the risk of hurting so much when they were killed, as they doubtlessly would be. So he had spent more and more time at work. When Tali had been born, it had been the beginnings of his suspicions that Chanah was lying to him. He had wondered briefly when he had come home after 11 months to find Ziva, but he had brushed it off as a mistake, the off-chance that the birth control hadn't worked. But Tali... there was no way in heaven or hell that Tali had been fathered by him. Ari wouldn't admit to anything. Ziva wouldn't admit to anything. Chanah definitely wouldn't admit to anything.

For a little while, when Ziva had been small, he thought he might have managed it. That he might have begun to love his children. But then Hamas had attacked Beth Shalom when Ziva had been 11, and he realized that these children were just as mortal as his first children. He could have very well lost another child in an instant, and he would have been torn to pieces. So he had pulled away.

Knowing that Tali wasn't his child didn't the diminish the pain when she died in Haifa. To watch Chanah and Ziva break down, knowing that Ziva wouldn't accept his arm. He had to send Ari after her, to make sure she was all right.

And now... now, he wasn't sure how it had happened. Chanah's adultery or not, Ziva was his daughter. He wouldn't lose another child. His last child. No matter what this hotshot American accused him of, he wanted – no, needed – Ziva back in Tel Aviv, where he could keep an eye on her more easily, where he could keep her nearby.

* * *

Ziva smiled slightly as she opened her eyes. "Do not be so hard on him, Tony," she said softly, squeezing his hand lightly. "My father is not an emotional man. He does not deal well with relationship. Between the Nazis and Hamas, they have destroyed that part of him."

Tony smiled back, kissing her fingers. "I'm not letting you go without a fight," he murmured in reply as he slid under the covers beside her. Satisfied as she snuggled against him, he laid a kiss on her forehead and wrapped his arms comfortably around her. "Love you."

Ziva was already fast asleep, light snores escaping.


	6. Take My Resignation

DISCLAIMER: I don't own any of NCIS.

* * *

**Chapter 6: Take My Resignation**

"Really, Tony, I am fine," Ziva said hoarsely as she sat up slowly, holding a hand to her head. "Just a little dizzy. Really, I do not need help."

"I think not, super girl," Tony replied as he slid an arm around her waist. "Three-quarters of your body are in casts. Come on, up you go. You want out of here, don't you?"

"Wait, too fast," Ziva said, grabbing at his arm as she swayed dangerously. She bit back a whimper of pain as Tony tried to get her transferred to the wheelchair with the least amount of pain.

"Sorry, sorry," he said immediately, managing to get her into the wheelchair. "It'll only happen three more times."

Ziva groaned, just as the doctor entered. "No more drugs."

"You're going to want them, Officer David," the doctor said knowingly. "You've been on heavy painkillers and sedatives since you got here two weeks ago. Feeling the pain now, aren't you?"

"I hate feeling fuzzy," Ziva muttered as Tony took the bag of prescriptions from the doctor. "I'm going to flush all of them down the toilet."

"No, you won't," Tony replied. "You're going to take some as soon as we get you home. You're going to sleep for a while."

Ziva muttered a threat in Hebrew at him.

* * *

"I hate these," Ziva said, in a slurred voice as she finished swallowing the painkillers. "Make me drowsy..."

"I know," Tony said, taking off her shirt to change her into an old shirt of his with plenty of room to move in.

"Not a child..." Ziva slurred, though she seemed too drowsy to fight him off as he pulled off her sweatpants. "... dress myself..."

"Right," Tony said, easing her down to a lying position and pulling the blankets over her. "Man, those must be some nasty pills, to knock you out in minutes," he said, kissing her lightly and then leaving the bedroom to let her sleep.

"She asleep?" Gibbs asked, looking up from where he was examining the bookshelves.

"Out like a light in a drug-induced sleep," Tony replied, sighing as he opened the fridge. "Want something, boss?"

"Got any beer?" Tony tossed him a bottle and took one himself. Gibbs looked at him briefly as he broke the lid off. "You don't want to drink, DiNozzo."

"Why not?"

"You want to be good and sober when her father arrives for the fight."

Tony thought about that for a moment. "True." He replaced the bottle. "He'd probably hate me even more if he caught me drinking, any way."

"He'll hate you until the day he dies, Tony, get used to it," Gibbs replied. "Nobody is ever good enough for your little girl. Trust me."

* * *

Ziva moaned as she woke up to the sounds of an argument out in the living room. Sighing, she slowly managed to get herself out of bed, somehow getting her walking cast on and holding herself up by the wall. Carefully, she took a few steps, pausing when the world spun around crazily again. Once it had stopped, she took another few steps, stopped, took another few steps, stopped... God, this was going to get annoying...

Her father and Gibbs seemed to be in a verbal match of some kind. Tony noticed her standing at the entrance of the hall and quietly slipped away to put an arm around her waist. "Let go of the wall," he murmured. "I got you."

"I am fine, Tony," she murmured in reply. "Really."

"Let go of the wall. You need to eat something."

"Just... just toast is fine," she replied, reluctantly removing her hand from the wall and stumbling slightly as her weight shifted from the wall to Tony.

"You're okay, I got you," Tony repeated, guiding her over to the kitchen area. "You said toast?"

"Yes, please," Ziva said quietly. "How long has he been here?"

"Who, Gibbs?"

"My father."

"Roughly an hour," Tony replied, putting the bread into the toaster as he kept a steady arm around her waist, Ziva grabbing at the countertop before she lost her balance. "They've both been blasting each other since."

"It won't make the problem go away, David," Gibbs was saying tersely.

"The bastards are dead. That is all I care about," her father replied. "She will be returning to Israel."

* * *

"I hope you aren't talking about me, Father," Ziva spoke up quietly in Hebrew. "I'm staying right here."

"Ziva, don't argue," Binyamin sighed. "I can make it a direct order. I can have Officer Horowitz create a transfer file. I'd rather you came back on your own. Mossad believes that I control your movements enough as it is."

"You _do_ control my movements, Father," Ziva replied. "More than you do any other officer in Mossad." She gave Tony's arm a light squeeze in reassurance as his grip around her waist tightened. "Israel is no safer than America, Father. Or have you forgotten that Hamas killed Tali? Your first family? Your brother?" She didn't break gazes with him, even as his eyes took on a dark glint.

"Ziva, I am your father, I will do as I fit for you."

"I won't let them win, Father. If I leave, they've won. They've driven another Jew out of their country. Our people have been forced out enough in history." She waited while he processed that thought. "I will fight."

"Ziva..." Binyamin groaned. "Ziva, look at yourself! You were inches from death! You cannot _fight_ them and expect to live again!" He stopped, waiting to see if that had penetrated. "I will not lose another child to these bastards, Ziva. Them and those who think like them. You _will_ return to Tel Aviv with us tomorrow afternoon. Officer Horowitz has handed in your conclusion of assignment papers to Director Shepard."

Ziva looked at him for a while, disappointment in her eyes. "Then I'm giving Mossad my resignation notice. I won't leave, Father, no matter what you threaten."

"_Threaten?_" Binyamin roared, the last of his patience snapping. "Since when have I threatened you, Ziva? When have I given you anything but the best of assignments? Assignments where you don't fear being tortured to death at every sound, where you can have a warm place to sleep and good food to eat?" He paused to take a breath, noting how her lover, still stationed firmly behind her, was watching him warily. "When have I been anything but accommodating to you? I give you everything you request. When you wanted to be Ari's control officer, I gave it to you, passing up others more qualified! When you requested the American assignment, I let you go, even though this position is a complete waste of your training and skills! When you wanted to move from the apartment Mossad subsidized to live with _him_, did I not arrange to have Mossad subsidize your portion of the rent and utilities, though protocol states that _you_ should have been held accountable?"

"And yet the one request that I really want, you won't even consider," Ziva said quietly.

"Ziva, I have made more exceptions for you than I would have allowed any other officer to make for their own children. I should have had you punished, written up, demoted, _anything_, really, when that damn American boss of yours killed Ari. I did none of that. I let you go with a reprimand. I let you have the assignment that you wanted!"

"_I_ killed Ari!" Ziva yelled at him. "_I _shot him with a Mossad weapon when he confessed to propagating terrorism internationally and to murder and to conspiring to commit crimes against Israel! He did not die a hero, he died a criminal! He was never your mole!" She stopped when she saw Binyamin blanch and back away slightly. "Does that make it easier to accept my resignation, Deputy Director David?" she asked quietly, coldly, without any indication that she was speaking to him as anything but an officer. "I killed my charge. I lost control, he betrayed Mossad for years and I didn't see it. He killed an American agent, he tried to kill Gibbs and I killed him, and then I lied on the report."

The two Americans were watching them warily as Binyamin said, "You lied."

"Take my resignation, Father, save Mossad the embarrassment," Ziva said softly. "You always cared more for them than you did us, any way."

Binyamin sighed in frustration. "I don't want to argue with you anymore, Ziva."

"Then take the resignation and go back to Tel Aviv. I will pass up the resignation stipend, just leave me here in peace."

Father and daughter watched each other for a while longer. Finally, Binyamin took out his cell phone. He dialed Horowitz and said brusquely, "Cancel the transfer order and Officer David's return flight. She's staying here." With that, he hung up, walking out without another word said.

* * *

Ziva sighed and sagged back into Tony's chest, suddenly feeling very drained. Negotiating with her father was always draining. "Okay, that was not fun. We will not be doing that again," she said tiredly.

"Agreed," Tony said, half-carrying her over to the couch.

* * *

When Gibbs had left, convinced that Ziva was tired but fine, Tony sat down next to her and pulled her into his arms, her walking cast abandoned on the ground. "What was the argument about?"

"Nothing," Ziva murmured, hand creeping underneath his shirt to trace her nails lightly across his nipples while she began to suck on his neck provocatively.

"Oh, you do that, Ziva, and I won't be held responsible for my actions," Tony teased gently, undoing the buttons on both of their shirts when she sent him a mysterious smile and nipped gently at his earlobe. "That does it, woman, you're going down." He grinned back at her and laid her down on the couch. "And best part? You're still wounded, which means that _I_ get to ride on top," he teased.

"Does it?" Ziva asked coquettishly as he stripped them both down quickly. As Tony lightly pinned down her wrists above her head and leaned in to kiss her, she waited until he had lost himself in the kiss of the moment. Then she deftly grabbed his wrists and pulled them behind his back, effectively subduing him and bringing his body flush with hers. "I would reconsider that." She grinned at the look on his shocked, pleasure-flushed face. "You may be on top, Tony, but I am still in control," she murmured to him, kissing him again as she tried to hold back the evidence that she was in pain holding him down. Carefully, she pulled him in with her free leg, the other incapacitated in its cast.

"All right, you've made your point, Ziva, let go of my wrists before you pass out," Tony said softly, kissing her lightly. "It's hurting you to hold them, I can tell." Gratefully, Ziva released him, letting his arms fall back down to her sides. Freed at last, Tony kissed her again. "I promise I'll go slow," he whispered before he withdrew and began tracing sensuous trails along her inner thigh with the fingers of one hand, the other pressing down on her hip, holding her down when she bucked up at the entry of his fingers into her moist hollow. "Calm down..."

"Tony..." she moaned. "Don't be so cruel. Stop taking your time."

"I'm enjoying this," Tony countered silkily, before he replaced his fingers with his mouth and making her scream his name with pleasure. It wasn't taking much to drive her to the edge today. "A little bit of foreplay never goes amiss, Ziva David. I thought you knew that. You're the queen of foreplay," he murmured into her folds.

"You. In me. Right now," Ziva ordered in a gasp, trying to arch her back but hindered by casts. "Enough foreplay." She screamed his name again when he kept doing exactly what he had been. "Tony!"

Grinning, Tony pushed in slowly, lifting her hips and angling them slightly to facilitate working around the casts.

Ziva moaned something softly in Hebrew and ground her hips against him. She repeated it as Tony began to ride her, her body trying to move the best it could in order to accommodate him.

* * *

Tony watched her face as she slept beneath his body, cheeks still flushed from the exertion of sex, her luscious lips kiss-bruised, dark curls tumbling over her face and her heart still pounding against his chest. He probably should get off of her before her painkillers wore off completely.

There was a knock at the door just then, and Tony grumbled under his breath, grabbing his clothes from the floor and yanking them on. Stalking over to the door, fully expecting the old lady from next door to be there shouting about the noise, Tony pulled it open none too gently.

Outside was Simon and Myriam. "What do you want?" Tony asked drowsily, stepping aside to let them in.

"Is Ziva awake?" Simon asked quietly. "We are about to leave for Tel Aviv. Wanted to say goodbye."

"She's sleeping," Tony replied. "I'll let her know you were here when she wakes up." He paused, looking at Myriam. "Thank you," he said to her. "For everything you guys did for Ziva."

"We take care of our own," Myriam said with a smile. "Besides, I owe Ziva a lot of favours. We all do. Ask her to tell you about Beth Shalom one day."

"Goodbye, Agent DiNozzo," Simon said, taking Myriam by the arm to lead her away.

"Take care of her," Myriam said. "And if you hurt her, I will kill you."

"I will," Tony replied. "Goodbye."


End file.
